Colder than the Moon
by Kozakura
Summary: A Lucius Malfoy backstory. Danger, Romance, Intrigue, and Muuuurr-deeerrr...
1. Prologue

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),  
  
And I will show you something different from either  
  
Your shadow at morning striding behind you  
  
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;  
  
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.  
  
--'The Waste Land' T.S. Eliot  
  
There are strong and there are weak. The strong feed on the weak, and the weak feed on the weaker. I have seen strong men fall, and I have seen weak men rise. I have made those who fed on me collapse, I have destroyed them, I have taken all I could from them, and made myself big, bigger then they were. I was the strong then, and they were the weak.   
  
I fed on the weak, I preyed on the weak. All those lower then me, less cunning than me, less confidant, less pure blooded, less arrogant, and less brave. All those whose weak arms could not push me away, those whose weak arms opened to me, to bring me in, those who wanted me, feared me, loathed me, craved me. I am a drug, I am a form of death, I am an addiction, I am pleasure personified.   
  
Lucius Malfoy. Pleased to make your acquaintance.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
(Wrote this listening to 'La Grange' by ZZ Topp)  
  
Edit: I wrote this about 6 months back, soon after I finished "If I die before I wake". I havn't written since then, except to edit and re-edit "If I Die" into a fairly decent original fiction. Listening to David Bowie today and the song that originally inspired this fiction, I became once again inspired to write as Lucius.   
  
I'll see if I still have the gift.   
  
P.s. sorry about the actual content being shorter then the AN. call this a teaser, if you will. 


	2. Moonlight gets in your eyes

See these eyes so green  
  
I can stare for 1,000 years  
  
Colder than the moon  
  
It's been so long…  
  
- - - - -   
  
It was when I was a child -still perhaps, during Hogwarts, though I can't remember now; Possibly, even during my first year under his command, though that, at times, can be more distant then my school days- but, as I remember I was still young when my eyes changed from green to grey.   
  
I don't remember whether it was gradual: a slow sinking from the pale perfect leaf color into the somber colorless wash they now possess. Perhaps is was sudden: an overnight switch that everyone was too polite, or, depending when it happened, to scared to comment on.   
  
Severus would be able to tell me, that withdrawn, omniscient collector of subtle changes and events. He could tell me, but then, he is farther from me then a great deal of my childhood memories, now.  
  
But, back then, back when my limbs were still plump, my body small, my hair golden, and my ears not tainted by the name Voldemort, back then my eyes were green.  
  
- - - - -   
  
"If you desire power, seek the company of those with it. Become the sought after and you will only find death."  
  
My father's voice, already crackling and ancient in my young ears, carried this message to me across the candlelit dinner table that night, his pale angry eyes squinting at me from beneath a furrowed brow.   
  
"Do you understand me, boy?" He glared at me, my eleven year old body gazing at him, perfectly still, hoping that the anger within him would not be unleashed.   
  
"No, sir. Sorry, sir." I whispered the words, terribly mousy and scared in his presence, the days before I learned run of the manor.   
  
"I wouldn't have expected you to." He snarled back.   
  
"Jareth, he's only a boy." My pale mother whispered the words to him, a surprising show of bravery for her, her body trembling with the effort even before his head swung around to face her. The old lion's paw swiped out, knocking my young mother into the arm of her chair, before his predatory gaze returned to me, my eyes staring blandly into the duck on my plate.   
  
"As I said, I wouldn't have expected you to. It's something you must learn, if you're to attend Hogwarts. You think on it, boy, and you tell me what the importance of this little lesson is, when you figure it out." He stared at me a moment longer, before tossing his head at the door.   
  
"Leave."  
  
As I left the room behind, my father's rough voice growled to my mother in the room behind me. I heard a soft whisper in return, and the growl rose to a roar, the shatter of plates echoing into the hall.   
  
My feet kept their pace, tracing slowly down the hallway, the moon reflected in my eyes.   
  
The moon stayed in my eyes, dancing as I stared in the mirror, my blonde hair tucked behind my ears. My mother's screams from their bedroom down the hall just barely reached my ears as I traced my features, staring deeply into the mirror. My father's silent curses I couldn't hear, but I knew the desperate wails were shot through with them. Father always said he had to convince my mother of his love for her each. Each and every time.   
  
The lesson echoed around my head as I stared into the mirror, searching for it's meaning in my own mind.   
  
"I will be powerful." I whispered this, my fingers resting on my chin. I tilted my head back, staring down my nose at my reflection.   
  
"But I will not be sought after." I stared into my own green voids, and a slow smile curled my lips, incongruous to the screams that were fading into almost silent moans down the hall.   
  
"I will be powerful."  
  
- - - - -  
  
I crept through the dark that night, a young cub learning how to hunt. The door slid open to my touch, my feet silent on the deep pile of carpeting. My eyes saw into the darkness, lit only by the moon. I saw my mother's huddled, sleeping form in the darkness, her hair falling, tangled over her face. I approached the end of the bed, and saw my father, laying boldly on his back. My breath heaved into my lungs.   
  
The sheets were soft beneath my feet as I crept up the bed, my body towering over my father's sleeping one. I slowly crouched down, and wrapped my hands around the old mans neck. My thumbs found his pulse, beating there behind the tired old skin, and pushed down.   
  
His eyes popped open, surprised, the pale green seeing nothing in the dark but my eyes, an exact copy of his. He began to struggle, his arms jostling my legs where they pressed down. I felt them begin to slip out from under my weight- and they stopped. I looked back surprised, and saw my mother, face bruised, kneeling her own weight into his arms. I stared for a moment, gazing into her scared eyes before turning back to stare into his, watching, waiting, feeling the beat beneath my hands race, then slow, slower, and slower. My vision bored into his, waiting, waiting to see.   
  
And then it happened.   
  
Just as his pulse slowed, just as the color began to drain from his face, his gasps began to stop- it happened.   
  
I can't begin to describe it to you, that look in my father's eyes as his moment of death came. The vision I saw reflected there, the sight that I beheld- it goes beyond saying.   
  
I came back to myself, crouched over my father, as my mother's hands set down onto my shoulders. I turned my head to the right, staring at her from the shadows. Her face was lit by the moon pouring in from the window to our right, fear still etched there.   
  
I spun around, swift and quiet, and touched her face.   
  
"You will sleep here tonight. When you wake up in the morning, scream. You don't know what killed him. Forget I did. Tell no one. No one." I scrambled out of the bed, my hands fumbling at the door as I pulled I shut quietly behind me. I raced down the hall to fall, shaking, into my bed.   
  
I closed my eyes against the monsters that began to creep out of my closet, and drew the covers over my head to protect from the bedtime stories the ones under my bed liked to whisper in my ears. I curled up, a small boy hiding from the night, and slept.   
  
- - - - -   
  
Okay. Well, I suppose that's it for now. I'm usually only good for about two pages. I suppose my [slight] talent comes in teeny tiny doses. Hope you enjoy! We'll see if I can get out more. Of course….reviews are ALWAYS encouraging… *grins* 


	3. A tigers stripes

My first years at Hogwarts are but a blur to me now, few moments standing out of the haze of propriety and   
  
teenaged politics. Trivial things, mostly, winning a quidditch cup, being made a prefect…few very   
  
important, things I can use now. None very clear, but one.   
  
The moment I met Him.   
  
Severus Snape.   
  
I knew him vaguely- a boy's power who rivaled my own, both magical power, and his power over people.   
  
It was shocking to know this when you looked at him- lithe and pale, hair hanging sullen in his sober eyes,   
  
the black school robes always covering all, more and more black, none of the bright jewel tones in fashion   
  
in our 6th year.   
  
But he did have power over them, how little they knew it. They knew I had power over them through my   
  
position, and my money, my family name, and my favors. But while I ruled through adoration, he ruled   
  
through fear. Because they did fear him. All drew away under his sour gaze.   
  
All but me.  
  
- - - - -  
  
There is an old tale of a Princess.   
  
This Princess was in love with a Prince of equal age, a love that hurt her soul with a burning passion.  
  
The old King, father to the Princess, knew this Prince, and felt the lad had no right to the love of his   
  
beautiful, perfect daughter.   
  
The grand arena, the fabulous court, had two doors. The old king presented the young Prince with the   
  
doors, each one a separate choice, a separate future.   
  
Behind one, sinewy death in the form of a tiger, ready to maul and rend and maim.   
  
Behind the other, beautiful freedom in the form of a maiden he could marry, and leave with.   
  
The daughter knew which door held death, and which door held life. She told her lover she would indicate   
  
which door to pick.   
  
The Princess however, was torn.   
  
If she chose the lady, her handsome young lover would live, free of impending death, but he would love   
  
another, taken away from her forever.   
  
If she chose the tiger? He would forever love her, know only her arms, her kisses, the taste of her tears and   
  
lips. But he would die.   
  
And with that, there came the age old question to the Princess. The question that is presented by characters   
  
in literature world wide, the question that reflects a thousand questions, that is repeated in culture   
  
surrounding us, the question that drips in seven syllables from millions of mouths.   
  
The Lady? or the Tiger?  
  
When I looked at him, I finally understood the Princess. Looking at his dark hair, his pale skin, I felt the   
  
burning, all consuming flame of passion ignite in my soul, and I stared at him, all tenderness and beauty. I   
  
loved him deeply, so quickly, the heady red wine floating around in my soul, deepening my awareness of   
  
his soft neck, the vulnerable spots above his veins. I craved the taste of his blood, his flesh, the taste of his   
  
soft malleable skin in my mouth. Looking at him, I was the story.   
  
I wanted to make love to him, sweetly touch that angry, genius young face, wanted to make my name   
  
spring from those lips, drip from them in a moan, jump from them in a cry. I wanted to see those eyes that   
  
know too much stare up at me, glazed in passion, glassy with pleasure. I wanted to make him feel more   
  
than he ever thought possible. I wanted to nuzzle that perfect skin, translucent above the veins, to kiss my   
  
way along that strong jaw, to nibble the delicate shell of that ear. I felt my need for him deep within my   
  
groin, heavy in me, and I almost moaned beneath the weight of my craving.  
  
I wanted to nuzzle that flat stomach, sink my teeth in the skin, bite my way down that long column of his   
  
neck, bring the blood that hesitated beneath his skin to the surface. To taste the blood that refuses to color   
  
the skin, to see if it really is too good for him. I wanted to sink my claws into his thighs, drag them along   
  
that straight strong back, to pull him down to me, to take him, to bring him pain with then pleasure, to see   
  
him enjoy both, because no one as beautiful as that would not realize that pleasure does not come without   
  
pain. I wanted his thin body in my grasp, to hold it and to feel his crunch between my teeth as I devour him   
  
alive and passive.   
  
I wanted to lead him to freedom. Away from the daily ritual of learning, the daily schedule of classrooms   
  
and meals, classrooms and homework, sleep, wake up, more classrooms. I wanted to take him away from   
  
this dreary room, to pull him away from the deep green velvet he sinks deeper into, clinging to the book   
  
that looks huge in his thin lap, as people pass by. Losing himself. I wanted to show him all that he could   
  
find out there. I wanted to show him life is not only about what he can find in those books. I wanted to   
  
show him life is not only the world inside parchment and ink. I wanted to show him the open fields and   
  
sequestering forests, and to see the love of freedom and life in those secretive eyes.   
  
I want to be them all, Lady, Princess, Tiger. I watched my Prince, as his all knowing eyes reflect the fire   
  
back to itself, as he stares into the depths of his book, as he turns a page with those terribly long fingers that   
  
taunt me in my sleep. I swallowed, the alcohol bringing me courage, the warmed wine flowing in my veins   
  
now, threaded through with blinding fire. I stood up from my own chair, and walked over to him, the   
  
seductive swagger that I was used to seeing people fall all over themselves to watch, my hips moving   
  
beneath the material of my pants in a sway that is almost feminine. I felt the eyes on me, the girls eyes, the   
  
boys eyes. I felt the want heating the room, smell it on the air, taste it in my mouth.   
  
Stopping before him, the goblet still in my hand, I took a swallow, licking a spare drop away from the   
  
corner of my lips. I watched him stare at my mouth, at my tongue, and I knew he was in my thrall. His   
  
name came as a purr from my throat, and I saw in the depths of those eyes, those all knowing eyes,   
  
somewhere behind the fear that is fiercely hidden behind boredom and anger, that he knows I have made a   
  
decision.   
  
The Tiger.   
  
- - - - -   
  
  
  
Sorry this took so long to come out, I was debating whether I wanted to throw their relationship in this   
  
soon. But to set up what I want to do with the story, I want to set up their relationship and ship the little   
  
one's off to D.E. camp as soon as possible. However, if this switch is not taken well, and it is strongly   
  
objected, I probably will add in more. 


End file.
